"And this season, O Butterfly, is indeed the season of your bright
prosperity: so comely you now are that in the whole world there is nothing
more comely. For that reason all other insects admire and envy you;-- there
is not among them even one that does not envy you. Nor do insects alone
regard you with envy: men also both envy and admire you. Soshu of China, in
a dream, assumed your shape;-- Sakoku of Japan, after dying, took your
form, and therein made ghostly apparition. Nor is the envy that you inspire
shared only by insects and mankind: even things without soul change their
form into yours;-- witness the barley-grass, which turns into a butterfly.
[13]


"And therefore you are lifted up with pride, and think to yourself: 'In all
this world there is nothing superior to me!' Ah! I can very well guess what
is in your heart: you are too much satisfied with your own person. That is
why you let yourself be blown thus lightly about by every wind;-- that is
why you never remain still,-- always, always thinking, 'In the whole world
there is no one so fortunate as I.'


"But now try to think a little about your own personal history. It is
worth recalling; for there is a vulgar side to it. How a vulgar side? Well,
for a considerable time after you were born, you had no such reason for
rejoicing in your form. You were then a mere cabbage-insect, a hairy worm;
and you were so poor that you could not afford even one robe to cover your
nakedness; and your appearance was altogether disgusting. Everybody in
those days hated the sight of you. Indeed you had good reason to be ashamed
of yourself; and so ashamed you were that you collected old twigs and